Less Than Human

Gnats all around us, lice in our hair,
Aches in our backs, defeat in our glare,
For we matter not. Do we not?
Regarded less than human is our flock.

Daily degradation, hatred everywhere,
Lack of education, infants in our care,
Not even family plots when we rot,
Regarded less than human is our flock.

Beaten and broken and bent out of shape,
Bashful and baffled, we bastards of fate,
Hell played in mazes of rays from the sun,
Horrified by howls of hounds if we run,

Aimless anguished labor for fat millionaires,
No wealth to come to us, only whips if one dares,
Of acts of inhumanity this was the epoch.
Regarded less than human, still, is our flock.

Theater Shooting

I hope this recent shooting at a Batman showing raises enough eyebrows to convince someone with authority to change the gun laws. The truth is that the number of guns in the United States and the number of adult citizens are neck-and-neck. That's pathetic as far as I'm concerned. We live in the Land Of The Free be shot on any given day. I hope you all enjoy this freedom of death.

In Your Presence

Happy Birthday!

Another year is happy to receive
the wonderfully fair air that you breathe.
Though at times it's hard, I’m still happy to be in your presence.

Naturally as a breeze through autumn leaves you move me.
Without effort you seamlessly embody grace and joviality,
with a glow that grows, and it shows to all in your presence.

And those days when you’re down and not making a sound,
when the tension is high and the tide dies down,
your silence is loud like the horn of a clown.
Now that's one hell of a presence.

You hum your own tune as you step, looking sweet.
Every street lies in wait of the stamp of your feet.
Like grooves in concrete you’re embedded in me.
That means I’m always in your presence.

Mr. Sinister Lyricist Vs. ExCeed

ExCeed

I rhyme one way, takin flight off the run way
listen while I bruise, I bring the news, you copythat?
You copy cats with hip hop style and sloppy hats
you flop your stacks, spend a lot of cash?
Your cheap lines, cheap computer, money where your problems at
The little birdy told me nothin, cause he wasn't singin
Yeah I hit hard, you'll hear dumbells ringin
under thirty, not a birdy, I walk
with bags I take 2 drags I swag
then bag your hos, keep them beauties as collaterol
fantastic flow farms that cabbage mo
and I'm glad I still know I bag that dough
Glad I got that bag to handle trash some mo
My castle got some cards with the aces on top
When I seige I shut it down and those aces flop
Talk hop scotch not hip hop and walk what you talk
Sorry If I bitched you, my rhymes had you in the chalk.



The Rave

Man I nodded off a little, cause that shit bored me to sleep.
Cheap and weak, and speakers weep when ExCeed speaks on a beat.
Let me seep into your veins and give the sweetest relief,
cause you're going down fast, homie. We all feel your grief.

Do your money talking. All that jawing shows what you're about.
Just a sell out that's been well worn out, but where is your clout?
In your dreams is where. Bet your car is worth more than your house.
Same old same old flout, without a doubt, the game can do without.

But the real is what you're reading; steady growing, no defeating,
moving freely through your blood stream. Your veins are now heating.
Feel the fury do you boy? Feel your blood start to boil?
Only getting worse from here, The Rave will never recoil.

I'm a psychopathic mohel, leave you lyrically castrated,
"bucked naked!" like The Players Club after St. Louis razed it.
Hesitation is the safest plan when you fuck with The Man.
I'll cook you, eat you, and shit you out faster than Hannibal can.



From http://freestylerap.forumakers.com/t1743-mr-sinister-lyricist

Black Men in dresses

Now they've got Charles Barkley in a dress. Sign!

The War On Drugs (Blacks)

As far as I'm concerned the "War on Drugs" is nothing more than a war on blacks. Since no measures are being taken to prevent drugs from getting to the streets, and the petty pushers on the block receive more severe penalties than those of the high profile, clean cut, white collar opportunists that conspire to get the narcotics in the country in first place, it's only logical to conclude that the poor young kids on the corner are the target of this war.

Mr. Sinister Lyricist

Rage is what you feel when you write like this;
When you don't give a shit if you hit or you miss,
Cause you The Shit, and you knew it from jump,
Ready to bite a nigga head off as soon as he jumps.

You be mean muggin' mutha fuckas just for the hell of it,
And your homies keep asking, "Dude why you be buggin'?
Why sometimes you be all quiet and don't wanna talk,
And like a bat straight out of hell where ever you walk?"

And I reply, "Ya'll can all go fuck yourselves,"
While I'm bumping that D12 World by D12.
Protect your health, and stay the fuck away from me.
Unless you wanna get ass fucked, don't fuck with me.

I'm a punk that gets punked by none of you punks,
Smoke the funk and stay drunk, but never stunt,
On the hunt for a weak rhyme chump to make brunch,
Skip lunch, wait for a new bunch, then take a chomp.

Now a chunk of yo ass is missin', and my ass you kissin'
while I laugh and piss. Now stop that "fag-shit" dissin'.
This is the christenin' of the illest spittin'
sinister Mr. Lyricist with a pen. So listen in.

Origin: http://freestylerap.forumakers.com/t1743-mr-sinister-lyricist